Chapter 3

Scarlett’s POV

Sweat was consuming me; I had been dancing all night with Aryan, the guy who was a stranger just minutes ago. His lips approached mine, I tried to push him away, but it didn’t work. My brow furrowed; I hadn’t gone with him to have sex, I just wanted to distract myself.

It’s unfair that every man who looks at me thinks I want to fuck him. In a failed attempt to push his face away from mine, I stepped on his foot and ran away. I couldn’t believe this was happening; tears began to fall, and I didn’t even know why I was crying.

Love wasn’t for me; I was already aware of that; it had been demonstrated to me in infinite opportunities.

I wiped my mouth and called a taxi; the car didn’t take long to arrive. My face had smudged makeup. Incredible, now this man would see me at one of my worst moments.

“Excuse me for intruding, but are you okay?” he asked.

He was someone young; I tried to smile at him, and I guess it came out as a grimace.

“Not really, but come on, it’s Vegas! We have to enjoy ourselves.”

“The lack of enthusiasm in your voice indicates that it was a bad night. Luckily, we have arrived at your destination.”

“Thank you very much,” I whispered.

I got out of the car confidently without looking back. Before entering the house, I took off my heels, went straight to my room, and started undressing. If the stupid Aryan thought he would ruin my trip, he was wrong. But thinking that men treated me that way made me feel somewhat disgusted with my body. Being “pretty” by society’s standards is not always easy. Even being a woman is complicated; when you walk on the streets, you have to be careful and afraid.

When I was little, Dad used to tell me that a man is nothing more than a stupid and brainless person. He even claimed that men often think about sex and that it’s best to find someone who loves you, as he did with Mom. I looked at the message Steve had sent me and sighed; I was lying in bed with my phone raised, wondering if what I was about to do was stupid.

“Nothing could be worse than tonight.”

I created a profile and put the phone aside. I was tired, had nothing to do, and had a huge headache. I went downstairs to get a glass of water and ran back upstairs when I remembered I hadn’t informed Olive; she was going to kill me. Tomorrow, there wouldn’t be a part of me left.

I quickly sent her a message telling her I had come back and that I would tell her tomorrow. She never replied; she must be having a passionate night with Francis, an attractive guy from Vegas. My phone rang, and I looked at it, a notification from “Date,” the app, had arrived.

10:01

Hi, I’ve seen you, and you looked beautiful to me. Would you like to meet tomorrow?

“Who would come up with sending a message like that?” I thought, making a face.

I turned off the phone in frustration and put the pillow over my head. My scream of frustration was enormous. What the hell was wrong with people? I bit my lower lip and pushed the pillow away. This day had been terrible, and I preferred not to reply.

The next morning, I woke up feeling more energized. I yawned and put on my pig-shaped slippers; they were pink and adorable. Dad bought them for me last year; he thought it would be a good birthday gift, and he wasn’t wrong. It made me quite happy; small details, gifts, and gestures always made me feel better.

I went downstairs, hoping Olive would be in the kitchen. And there she was, as I got to the ground floor, the voices and laughter became clearer. Her face was beaming with happiness; she wasn’t the same girl from yesterday with a sour and silly face.

I suppressed a sigh and tried to put on the best face possible. Francis smiled happily when he saw me, and I felt a pang, a big pang in my heart. Relationships were terrible for me, but for her, with all her dreams, she was quite good at them.

“You sneaked out last night,” Olive said, eating cereal with strawberries. Francis was next to her with a plate and casual clothes. “Have you been with a guy?”

“None in particular,” I forced a smile.

“We thought you had gone with someone,” Francis mentioned.

“As you always do,” Olive added.

I don’t know why it bothered me, I didn’t always go with guys, sometimes I just asked them to take me home, not to fuck, just because I didn’t have a car. My father took it away from me a while ago. I tried to calm down and ran upstairs. I remembered the guy’s message and decided to reply. I told him I would be there, to send me the address and time.

You know you’re doing something stupid when your heart beats a thousand times a second. It was five in the afternoon, and I was in a restaurant with dark lights. I had no idea what I was doing here or why I had decided to come. But sitting with Olive and her new love seemed like torture I wasn’t willing to witness.

I walked confidently to table five and looked at a man in a formal suit, wearing a tie, an expensive watch, and a defined face; the man was attractive. I approached him without being sure it was him. However, when his eyes opened wide, and he put his fingers on the bridge of his nose, I knew it was him. But what the hell? Why did he seem annoyed? He was the one who invited me here.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for…” I started to say.

He interrupted me and cleared his throat. “It’s me.”

His lips were thin, his eyebrows defined, his light brown hair, his green eyes. This guy was very attractive.

“I thought you’d be a creepy old man. I admit I wasn’t planning on responding to your message at first,” I said, frowning.

He furrowed his brow. “I never sent that message. My best friend thought I needed a wild night of sex, and that’s why I’m here. I’m sorry, I guess he thought you looked like a slut. But being here in front of you…” he leaned in close to my face and clicked his tongue, “you look like a nun pretending to be a slut.”

My jaw could have dropped to the floor at his shitty comment, but it didn’t. Pretending to have dignity is my strong suit.

“I’m sorry, little stranger,” I said, adjusting a strand of my hair. “But your shitty comment just went down the toilet. Try saying something better.”

“Okay, here it goes. Your bitchy, crazy, and lonely face is giving me eye cancer.”

“Eye cancer doesn’t exist,” I rebuked.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

And I laughed. For the first time all day, I let out a hearty laugh. This man was dressed in a suit, but he made me laugh, even if he said some fucked up things. My face softened and my shoulders relaxed. At least he wasn’t an asshole like the guy from last night. He was just a fool, a stupid fool.

“My name is William Raymond,” he said.

Oh, no, his name. I had seen it somewhere. I remembered the conversation with Francis when we met at the center, about the magazine, about his brother, and I knew. He was the brother of Olive’s new love. My face must have looked horrified because the poor guy asked me what was wrong.